


I'll Be Your Santa, Baby

by Renai_chan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Hartwin Secret Santa, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renai_chan/pseuds/Renai_chan
Summary: Eggsy has a very sexy surprise for Harry for Christmas.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 73





	I'll Be Your Santa, Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LelithSugar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/gifts).



> My Hartwin Secret Santa submission for L. Merry Christmas, darling! I know this year's been hard, but hopefully, this makes you smile a little.
> 
> Also a MASSIVE thank you to the lovely paxdracona for the wonderful art. I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I do ❤️
> 
> Happy New Year to all you lovely people reading this. I hope this bit of porn puts a bit of kick into your 2021 😄

This here was absolutely not Harry’s scene.

For all the wild partying he had done in his early twenties as the inevitable result of being thrust from the school system and into the newfound freedom of young adulthood and a bachelor’s paycheck to boot in the midst of the _eighties_ of all decades, he now found himself quite settled into the role of the refined older gentleman whose perversions--of which there were an admittedly fair few--lay firmly behind closed doors, a role he was groomed into by a three-decade long career as a gentleman spy and the many years before his wayward twenties as the son of a minor noble.

And so, to be directed to a strip club for a recon mission was moderately bewildering. Surely there were other agents better fit for such an environment? Bors maybe, young and suave and certainly no stranger to these places. Eggsy, too, but then Eggsy was already joining him at the club for the mission, Merlin had informed him, which made the thought of going into it only slightly more bearable. At the time, Harry had wanted to ask if Eggsy could do it on his own, as it was simply recon, but they had far and few shared missions together and Harry always enjoyed working with him.

The club wasn’t as awful as Harry remembered strip clubs to be. He remembered thick fogs of smoke, sticky floors, glow-in-the-dark paint and blacklights, the scent of cigarettes and hairspray, the thick grind of bodies amidst flashing blue and red lights. He remembered grungy bathroom floors beneath his knees, spray-painted walls, and drug deals whispered in the next stall. He remembered the rush of ecstasy in his veins as a bear of a man pushed his cock down the back of his throat and hissed slurs at him and “his posh twink arse.”

This one, though, was much more refined. Nice leather seating, a spacious but cozy enough layout, elegant decorations, and what looked to be a nicely stocked bar. Nevertheless, a strip club was a strip club. The dim, purple and blue lighting, the thumping music, the stage and the poles on the main floor, the bouncers and the skimpily clad waiters all professed the truth of this, and Harry was mildly disquieted.

“Take the booth in front of the left pole,” Merlin said through his earpiece as soon as the bouncer waved Harry through. Quite a number of people occupied other seats, but Harry did find the booth he was directed to empty. He was moderately thankful that the rest of the club’s patrons seemed to be as properly restrained as he was--just calmly enjoying the admittedly entrancing show--and he wasn’t crowded in by screaming hoards of bachelorettes on hen nights. Briefly, as he walked, he surveyed the lay of the land, sighting exits and mentally constructing escape strategies should he need it. The mark wasn't to be found yet, but no matter; Merlin would clue him into his whereabouts soon enough.

“A martini,” he ordered when one of the waiters came to take his order. Nicely sculpted pecs, lovely abs, and a tight arse, all of which he made sure to show off in his practically nothing attire and the sway of his hips. Once upon a time, Harry would be tempted at the prospect, but now that he had an even more gorgeous blond he could take to bed on the barest of whims, said prospect failed to elicit even a second glance. He still tipped nicely, of course, and received an equally nice smile in return, but there was a mission at hand, and Harry would rather get it over and done with so that he could take said blonde home and into his bed, just because.

It was an equal-opportunities club with both men and women performing and both men and women enjoying said performances. Right now was an exceptionally gorgeous brunette with a flexibility and dexterity that could rival Eggsy’s, something which he would have undoubtedly appreciated had he been here with Harry. As it was, their mission required them to be complete strangers, and so even though they might be in touching distance at some point during the night, Harry wouldn’t be able to whisper “what if”s in Eggsy’s ear.

“Standby for the mark in forty five seconds,” Merlin said with almost boredom in his tone. Really, now. Surely a simple recon mission could have been given to one of his lackeys to handle. Merlin had awfully much on his plate as it was. But it wasn’t Harry’s place to question Merlin’s decisions and especially not now that he had a persona to maintain. The brunette’s song wound down, and her routine ended in a flurry of perfectly executed whirls around the pole as Merlin murmured, “Ten seconds.”

Harry didn’t turn to watch the mark enter. He knew Merlin would tell him the moment looking at him became necessary, so in the meantime, he kept his eyes on the stage as a euphony of drums and trumpets resounded in a funky version of “Deck the Halls” that Harry was sure was the opening bars to [Rufus Thomas’s “I’ll Be Your Santa, Baby.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bS3hq3S3mW8) And when Rufus crooned, “Here comes Santa Claus” and the next performer came onstage, Harry’s eyebrows flew into his hairline.

In his ear, Merlin cackled madly.

“There’s your mark, Harry. Enjoy,” he said and unceremoniously hung up on Harry who was entirely preoccupied with watching Eggsy onstage strut towards the front. 

He wore a stunning tuxedo that was tailored to be _leagues_ too small for him--on purpose Harry would bet--in a blatant parody of James Bond if the trademark, one-knee, gun-out pose was any indication. The suit clung to his biceps like a second skin and Harry was sure that if Eggsy flexed too hard the stitching would pop. Certainly not Kingsman then because Dagonet would shoot Eggsy first before purposely mistailoring a Kingsman suit on his request.

The button at his waist was on its last threads, struggling to hold the jacket closed as Eggsy moved through the steps of his dance, all hip thrusts and high kicks and tantalising undulations of his body up against the pole, on the dance floor, on his knees, but its efforts highlighted the trimness of Eggsy’s waist and pertness of his arse.

Harry licked his lips and leaned closer, his martini forgotten in favour of soaking in the absolute glory that was his boyfriend humping the floor and twirling around a fucking stripper pole. And when Rufus further sang, “I’ll be your Santa, baby,” off went the jacket to reveal a shirt equally as tight as the suit and so thin, there was no mistaking the colour of Eggsy’s nipples beneath it and the curious red band running between them. More importantly was what was supposed to be a facsimile of shoulder holsters around his arms and waist but was quite clearly a decorative leather harness that made Eggsy look absolutely sinful. He did have "guns" in them which were beautifully worked into the routine because if anyone knew how to wield a gun like he was dancing, it was Eggsy.

He should be bothered by this, came a brief flash of thought, of Eggsy seducing the crowd with his body, putting himself on display in the lewdest of scenarios, of the crowd salivating over him, prepared to break their upper-class composure to stuff pound notes in Eggsy’s arse crack, but Harry _knew_ without a sliver of doubt exactly how this night was going to end and it was only going to end very well for him, so he didn’t give a toss.

Eggsy had to know he was there, of course. Harry didn’t doubt he’d engineered the whole scenario and co-opted Merlin’s assistance somehow, but throughout his dance, he barely gave Harry any more attention than he gave any other member of his audience--a lip bite here, a cheeky wink there--and Harry remembered that they were supposed to be strangers for this “mission.” 

Very fucking well, then.

When the music shifted to [“Naughty Would Be Nice,”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EZW385LcIA) off came the holsters and then the shirt, and very quickly after in a flurry of fabric and movement, the trousers as well to reveal that Eggsy was wearing naught but a thick Christmas-present-ribbon-like band running down his breast bone right between his legs and again around his waist, culminating in a bow right on top of his cock. It was thick enough to keep him from flashing the crowd, but Harry was sure that if he went through the rest of the routine, his cock would fall out. He was half-torn between wanting to see it happen and hoping it wouldn’t.

Eggsy gave the crowd a flirty, little wink and a blown kiss before he grabbed a hold of the pole and treated them to a first class show of all the years of gymnastics, parkour, Kingsman acrobatics, and upper body exercises he’d undergone over the years, and of his amazing arse bared for everyone’s consumption.

Jesus Christ was he amazing, every muscle flexing and contracting to hold himself in the most unrealistic of positions off of the ground: an upside down split, hanging onto the pole with just his thighs, a legit backbend. Harry half wondered when he had the time to actually practice this because it hardly seemed like something that could be copied off of a YouTube video. Or maybe Harry was extremely lucky and Eggsy was just that good. It was a dream and an inspiration all at once, and immediately, Harry was concocting ideas of how he could recreate that in their bedroom.

Despite Harry’s doubts, the ribbon held true, even through all the splits and twirls and shimmies of Eggsy’s routine, and when the music died down, Eggsy gave the crowd a deep bow and slunk off the stage, leaving the staff to recover his clothes and collect the tips the patrons offered up for him.

Harry was on the verge of storming the backstage--fighting off the bouncers if need be--and collecting his wayward lover so that he could take him home, throw him down on the bed, and do filthy, filthy things to him. Before he could do so, however, one of the waiters approached him and said, “Mr. Hart, sir, the Champagne Room you booked is ready now.” And of course Harry hadn’t booked a Champagne Room, but it didn’t need a second of thought to know that Eggsy had booked it for them and that maybe Eggsy might be one step ahead of him right now.

The Champagne Room was not exceptionally remarkable. A plush, L-shaped leather sofa was tucked in one corner, a stage and a pole in another, mirrors all around, low yellow light, a coffee table and a side table. Luxurious enough for what Harry assumed the club charged for a bottle of champagne, but more functional than anything really. Nevertheless, one didn’t come here for the decor. They came for the _entertainment_ , Harry’s being a twenty-five-year-old stud in a [leather, long-sleeved turtleneck](https://i.imgur.com/me87RqP.png) that ended just below his collarbones and a matching leather g-string.

Eggsy held aloft a tray with the bottle of champagne that came with the room and a single flute for Harry, swinging his hips as he walked in. Harry licked his lips.

“Your drink, Mr. Hart,” Eggsy said as he set the tray on the side table and popped the cork. The golden colour of the drink was enhanced by the golden lighting of the room, and combined with the gold of Eggsy’s hair, Harry quite felt like he was in the Cave of Wonders, doing laps in a pile of coins.

“Thank you, uh…” Harry trailed off, feigning ignorance.

A rakish grin spread across Eggsy’s face, and he answered, “Eggsy.”

“Eggsy,” Harry repeated as though trying the name out on his tongue. He took a sip of the champagne and immediately wondered how it would taste off of Eggsy’s skin. "And how long do I have you for, Eggsy?"

"Well, you booked the room for four hours, and I come with the room," said Eggsy with a shrug.

Harry considered that. "And what… _services_ does booking a Champagne Room for four hours entitle me?" 

“For what you’re paying for it, mate?” Eggsy scoffed. “Any fucking thing you want.”

“‘Mate’?” Harry repeated with almost haughty derision, an eyebrow lifted.

Eggsy flashed his teeth in a grin and corrected himself, “ _Sir_.”

“Better.” Harry gave a single nod. He looked his lover over, head to tight pink nipples to bulging leather-encased cock to foot, considering his options. The champagne thing was pretty tempting and Harry was looking forward to being sucked off by glittering lips--the lipgloss and eyeliner were a nice touch--but there was no need to hurry, and Eggsy had very nicely set them up to play for a bit, so he settled on, “Well, let’s start first with the pole. Dance for me, Eggsy.”

“Yes, sir,” Eggsy agreed with a wink. He went to the control pad by the door to bring up the opening “ba bum” of [Eartha Kitt's "Santa Baby"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mk_GmhD053E) through the hidden speakers of the room. Harry grinned, both in approval of his song selection and amusement at the dig. This wasn’t the first time it’s been implied that he was Eggsy’s sugar daddy.

Eggsy strutted back over to Harry, his steps in sync with the subsequent “ba bum”s of the back up singers, and pressed his hands to the seat cushion on either side of Harry’s head, boxing him in. When Eartha sang, “Santa, baby,” his body moved in a single undulating wave, bringing his chest within kissing distance of Harry's lips before moving away, and when Eartha said, “slip a Sable under the tree for me,” he dragged his hands down Harry’s chest, all the way down to his ankles until Eggsy was on his knees for Harry. But before Harry could get his fly open, Eggsy crawled away from him towards the pole--his arse glowing and swaying in the light--and slid up it just in time for “hurry down the chimney tonight.”

Harry needed a solid gulp of his champagne then because _fuck_ was he a lucky son of a bitch.

What proceeded next was a sensual acrobatic performance to the equally sensual voice of Eartha Kitt that Harry was sure would garner Eggsy a multitude of awards and admirers were he a sharing man. Unaided by momentum, his twists and twirls were a product of sheer strength and control, as evidenced by his muscles visibly straining as they took him through a routine that did not seem humanly possible without the powers of levitation. It was as impressive as it was sexy, and when the song ended, Harry licked his lips and summoned Eggsy back to him with a tilt of his head. Eggsy grinned and complied immediately, to which Harry snagged him even closer by the waistband of his thong.

“How was that?” Eggsy asked, cheekily as he knew full well what Harry’s answer would be. No matter though, Harry wasn’t without tricks up his sleeve. 

He ignored the question and slid his fingers down the crevice of Eggsy’s groin, tracing the hem of the pants. Eggsy was unable to suppress his groan and the shifting of his hips to give Harry space to touch more, but Harry ignored the invitation and only pulled the pants to one side to watch Eggsy’s cock, bright red and rock solid, tumble out. 

The room was hardly private in every sense of the word. The door was clear glass, easily seen through if one looked, which Harry assumed was mostly for the protection of the girls from pushy drunk men, but it didn’t matter because the staff was sure to know who Eggsy and Harry were to each other, and more importantly, in being seen lay the thrill, in knowing that someone could be watching Eggsy thoroughly being taken to pieces by Harry, and in watching him beg for more anyway.

“There we go,” Harry murmured and resisted the urge to tongue at the head. He patted Eggsy’s hip and tipped his glass up, ordering, “Refill my glass, please, and let’s see your next song.”

Eggsy’s mouth was slightly parted in what seemed to be confusion, and it took him a split second to react, but he did so without complaint, and he went to the side table to retrieve the champagne bottle. The sight of his cock bobbing as he walked back, framed obscenely by the thong, was filed into Harry’s wank bank for posterity, and with a grin, he held up his flute for Eggsy to refill. That Eggsy would have usually made a rude remark but didn't was a point in Harry's favour.

Eggsy’s next dance contained none of the cocky seduction of his previous ones. This one was less acrobatic, less teasing, and more careful, more desperate. He was clearly mindful of his exposed cock and much too aware of it. It was a counterbalance to the swaying of his hips, moving left when Eggsy went right, dragging down when Eggsy lifted his hips and then quickly snapping up to thump against his belly. It left him off-balance, which was what Harry had hoped to see. His champagne seemed to taste even sweeter now. 

Eggsy’s eyes were slightly widened when the song ended. He held his pose as he waited for Harry’s next command, but Harry was content to simply watch him for the moment, raking his gaze over the tension in his muscles and his cock bobbing between his legs. Harry sipped at his champagne slowly, savouring it, savouring _this_. They had four hours here, there was no need to rush.

Only when his glass was empty did he say, “Another, please, Eggsy,” and the answering “Yes, sir” was filled with gratefulness and eagerness that prickled at Harry’s skin.

When the flute was filled, Harry grabbed a firm hold of Eggsy’s bare buttocks with one hand and pulled him closer until he was kneeling on the couch over Harry, his cock an inch away from Harry’s lips, and without further preamble, Harry took his cock into his mouth.

“Oh!” Eggsy gasped, his hands automatically finding their way to Harry's hair where they usually would, but Harry was having none of that tonight.

Pulling off, he said, "Hands behind your back. Tell me when you're close," and then his mouth was back on Eggsy before he could respond an affirmative.

The thing about sucking Eggsy's cock was that he liked to control the pace. He was always incredibly sensitive to getting his cock sucked, and so he liked to control the depth of it, the speed, the angle, the position they were in, and Harry was always happy to have Eggsy’s hands fisting his hair, having his mouth used with little regard to his own comfort. But tonight wasn’t about what Eggsy wanted, and though Harry did mourn the loss of Eggsy’s hands, he was also delighted that they went behind his back as instructed.

The little whimpers and “ah”s he extracted from Eggsy didn’t quite profess the pleasure expected from one getting one’s cock sucked, and the jerking little motions of his hips seemed more an aborted attempt to pull back than to push in, but he hadn’t yet stopped Harry and so Harry didn’t feel inclined to stop either. He only dug his fingers harder into Eggsy’s flesh and pulled him deeper into his mouth, sucking when he could, licking and bobbing up and down the length, grazing his teeth lightly the way he knew Eggsy liked until he was gasping, “I’m close, Ha-- _Sir_! I’m close.”

Immediately, Harry tumbled Eggsy onto the sofa beside him, tore the thong off, pushed his thighs apart, and poured a healthy measure of champagne onto his crotch.

“Ah!” Eggsy yelped, his pelvis coming off of the couch in surprise. Harry took a moment to let him settle and the bubbles pop on his skin. The rest of the liquid trickled into the seams of the sofa, down onto the carpet, and into the leg of his trousers, but he paid it no mind as he bent over and licked a stripe right up the crease of Eggsy’s groin. “Fuuuuck,” Eggsy groaned. In his periphery, Harry could see his hands clench into fists, clearly holding himself back from sinking them into Harry’s hair again, so Harry rewarded him with a lick up his length.

The salt and musk on Eggsy’s skin provided a delicious counterpoint to the sweetness of the champagne, not unlike salted caramel. Harry couldn’t help but drink it off of his thighs with vicious glee, sealing his mouth around a patch of skin and sucking until Eggsy whimpered and twitched, biting when he couldn’t help himself.

“Fuck, please!” Eggsy cried out at a particularly strong bite. His hips bucked up into Harry, practically throwing him off so Harry grabbed the backs of his knees and folded him over. His assault continued on the backs of Eggsy’s thighs and the cheeks of his arse, littering them with blood-red bite marks until his skin was only slightly tacky with champagne. And when that was done, he pulled aside his thong and licked a broad stripe up Eggsy’s crack, from tailbone to balls. 

“Fuck,” Eggsy whimpered again, his voice wobbling as he spoke. “Sir, _please_.”

“‘Please’ what, Eggsy?” Harry asked from beneath him. Eggsy’s neck was arched, his head tossed back, his hands still clenched so tight his knuckles were white.

“ _Anything_ ,” was his response. 

Harry took his hands and pried his fists open so that he could put them on the back of his knees. Eggsy’s eyes were screwed tight and he was biting his lip, which delighted Harry and once again allowed him the element of surprise when he poured a drop more of champagne on his hole and immediately sealed his mouth over it.

"Ah! Fuck!" Eggsy's vocabulary seemed to have devolved into all of three words and unintelligible vocalisations, but Harry counted that as a win. He teased at Eggsy's entrance with the tip of his tongue while he applied gentle sucking pressure around it, and above him, Eggsy moaned loud and slammed his head back against the couch cushion.

He should probably care more about the glass door, Harry thought absently, but with Eggsy writhing on his tongue, he found himself caring about little else.

"Can I…?" Eggsy managed to find his voice enough to ask. His grip on his legs was white-knuckled and digging what was sure to be bruises the next morning, and Harry was already looking forward to adding those images to his personal porn library. Without giving any response, Harry pulled away from Eggsy's hole, tipped the rest of his champagne into his mouth, and slid neatly back down onto Eggsy's cock. 

The sound that came from Eggsy was a legitimate squeal, and almost immediately thereafter, Harry's mouth filled with come to flavour the champagne. He drank down the cocktail with absolute relish, coaxing the last spurts out of Eggsy with his tongue, and when Eggsy whimpered a protest from oversensitivity, Harry released him.

"Delicious," he teased, dabbing at a drop of alcohol on the corner of his lips. An arm was thrown over Eggsy's eyes and his breathing was shallow and ragged, so Harry allowed him a moment to catch his breath, and only when it evened out did he say, "I certainly hope you don't think we're done yet." Eggsy peeked at him from beneath his arm, gathered a deep breath, and sat up.

"Of course not, sir," he agreed. "Shall I give you a hand with that?"

“I’m more interested in your arse than your hand,” Harry told him. He knew the smile on his face was all kinds of lascivious, maybe a little predatory, but Eggsy returned it anyway with a cheeky grin of his own.

“Perv,” Eggsy teased, gently nudging Harry with his leg. Then he hauled himself up and leaned over for a kiss that was more gentle than either of them intended in the moment, but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to turn it into something lewd to match their surroundings. He cupped Eggsy’s jaw with a hand and settled the other on Eggsy’s hip. Their position didn’t allow anything more than those two touches and their kiss, but for the moment, it was everything Harry wanted. And when Eggsy had taken his fill and Harry deigned to let him go, Eggsy asked, “Anything in particular you want me to do?”

“Open yourself up for me, sweetheart, I want to watch while you do. And then you’re going to ride me afterwards,” was Harry’s decision. Eggsy nodded.

“Mm, yes, sir. Right on it.” A wink punctuated his obedience as he climbed off of Harry’s lap and went to the side table, where he fished out a tube of lube. Music complimented Eggsy’s steps toward it and to the pole once again which he danced around once and settled himself on his knees, his back to Harry, one hand clinging to the pole for balance and his back arched to tip his arse up.

His moan when he pushed a finger into himself was clearly played up for effect, but because it was a very lovely effect, Harry enjoyed it anyway. He worked himself open like he was dancing, all grinding hips and sensuous undulations and coy looks thrown over his shoulder, and yes, Harry was a very, very lucky man. 

When the second finger went in, his moan was a little less played up, his grinding a little less deliberate. The muscles of his forearm, practically visible through the tight leather, shifted with every motion of his fingers, the ones on his back tensed to hold his pose, and Harry wanted to lick every one of them.

“Another,” he instructed, suddenly impatient.

Eggsy threw an amused grin over his shoulder as he complied, but his eyelashes fluttered closed anyway and his moan was pornographic. 

Harry let him have a moment more to open himself up and enjoy the sensations, but his patience was thin enough as it was. Watching Eggsy finger himself was both heaven and torture at the exact same time.

“Come here,” he demanded as he undid his belt and trousers. Eggsy hurriedly crawled over to help him extract his cock from his pants, but mostly, it seemed, to get his greedy little hands and mouth on it. Harry hissed unintelligible praise and took a firm grip of Eggsy’s hair so that he could press him down to the root of his cock, holding him there as Harry thrust minutely up into his mouth, forcing himself in even further, delighting when Eggsy choked around him. His fingers were digging into Harry’s calves, but he was letting Harry do as he wished anyway.

Harry could have spent hours like that, he was sure, just Eggsy naked on his knees with Harry’s cock jammed down his throat, but he supposed they could do that another time. Probably in a more leisurely setting, somewhere cozy where Harry could read a book in front of a fire.

With that thought in mind, he pulled Eggsy off of him by his hair and up onto his lap for a kiss that was equal parts grateful and desperate. Harry reached behind him to press a finger into his hole, assessing mostly, but also teasing as well so that Eggsy groaned against his mouth and fumbled with the lube to slick Harry up. 

“Other way,” Harry told him as he prepared to slide down onto him. Eggsy nodded and shifted to put his back to Harry. He reached behind himself to guide Harry into him and, with a moan, seated himself in Harry’s lap.

Harry wrapped his arms around Eggsy and drew him back so that he could press kisses to the base of his skull where his laughable excuse of a shirt met his hairline. His arms crossed over Eggsy’s chest so that he could take hold of his nipples and roll them between his fingertips to match the grinding of his hips that forced him even deeper into Eggsy. 

Eggsy tipped his head back over Harry’s shoulder and moaned loudly into the room. “Fuck, please!” he begged, moving his hips to match Harry’s grinding, his greedy hole wanting more.

Harry pushed him back upright and told him, “Fuck yourself.”

He cursed as he did, sliding almost completely off Harry and then dropping back down so that every thrust resulted in sparks of pleasure in both of them.

Harry had never given much thought to forniphilia, but with Eggsy’s feet flat on the floor and him using Harry’s forearms like arm rests to propel him up and down his dick, he could see the appeal of being used like a chair. He could just sit back and enjoy the play of light and shadow across Eggsy’s gorgeously muscled back and watch his lover extract his own pleasure from Harry. Or try anyway because the position seemed to be much more work than one would have expected and Eggsy had just come anyway.

Harry enjoyed the frustration expressed by Eggsy’s grunts, revelled in the pleasure of the arse bouncing on his cock, squeezing around him to milk him of his come. Not that Harry had any intention of denying himself the pleasure of coming in said arse, so Eggsy didn’t have to work too hard on that front. 

It was the writhing that got to him in the end. When Eggsy sat back down on him and ground his arse around Harry’s cock, when Harry held him there and made Eggsy put his hands on the back of his own neck and told him, “Just like that, Eggsy. Dance on me,” when Eggsy groaned and moved his hips like he was dancing, rolling his back and his hips in time with the music in a wave that pushed himself further down onto Harry. 

With a grunt, Harry tightened his grip on Eggsy’s hips and arrested his movements as he came, pulsing load after load into Eggsy’s arse, thrusting minutely towards the end of it to eke out the last of his orgasm. Eggsy held perfectly still in the position Harry put him in, but he moaned like _he_ was the one coming, such a pretty sound that when Harry was done, he tipped Eggsy off of his lap and face down onto the floor, pulling his hips up so that he could press two fingers immediately into his loose, slick hole and press down _hard_ onto his prostate.

Eggsy yelled out in shock, nearly scrambling away if Harry hadn’t had a firm grip on his hip. One touch wasn’t enough to make him come, not when he’d just done so not a few minutes ago, but Harry knew how to play with his body, force him into another orgasm even when he wasn’t yet ready for it. He pressed down on his prostate over and over again, kicking open his knees when Eggsy tried to shut them.

“Give into it, darling,” he crooned while Eggsy sobbed. “I want to see you come again. Don’t try to hold it back.” He fucked Eggsy like that repeatedly, keeping up a consistent rhythm and pressure on his prostate until Eggsy gave up resisting and accepted the battering. The tension in his body eased, though his sobs and little “ah”s didn’t, and shudders wracked his body every so often. 

When he came, however, it was in complete silence and stillness, save his cock weakly spurting a scant amount onto the carpet below him. Harry continued to fuck him through it until Eggsy practically melted into the carpet and reached back to bat Harry’s hand away.

“Done,” he mumbled into the arm pillowing his head, to which Harry grinned and sat back, inordinately pleased with himself. His glass, which had been carefully set aside earlier, was taken back in hand and sipped at while Eggsy found the wherewithal to roll over and push himself up onto his feet and into Harry’s lap.

“I’m pretty sure this is a strip club and not a brothel. Do you let all your clients fuck you like that?” Harry teased. He reached out to tease a nipple with his fingertip and watch Eggsy squirm. “Because if so, I might have to buy out your contract here and have you come work for me privately.”

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst job in the world. You’re fit enough for your age,” Eggsy teased back, to which Harry pinched his nipple in retaliation, making him yelp. Then moan.

“Brat,” Harry told him, pulling him in for a kiss anyway.

“Mmm,” Eggsy agreed, and when they pulled apart, pressed his forehead to Harry’s. “Merry Christmas, love.”

“Indeed it is,” Harry answered.


End file.
